table, staring at the dancer with sensual lips parted. And she, quite aware of his attention and his wealth, was outdoing herself.
A prosaic scene, one would have said. Opening night of a resort de luxe; wealthy widower concentrating on a dancer's whirling bare body; people applauding carelessly. But the scene was to become far indeed from prosaic—and the cause of its change was to be Weems.
Among the people standing at the roof-garden entrance and wishing they could crowd in, there was a stir. A woman walked among them.
She was tall, slender but delicately voluptuous, with a small, shapely head on a slender, exquisite throat The pallor of her clear skin and the largeness of her intensely dark eyes made her face look like a flower on an ivory stalk. She was gowned in cream-yellow, with the curves